


Le Renard

by Mecka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: De-angsting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluffy, Foxes are good and pure and can bring out the good in anyone, Mondatta lives AU, but it's definitely the epilogue, eventually, not sure if this will go long enough for the lovers part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mecka/pseuds/Mecka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out there are two things Widowmaker didn't know could make her feel again, both of them find her during pre-mission scouting at King's Row.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A flash of orange

Widowmaker surveyed the streets below from her rooftop perch. She'd left the Talon safehouse, a cellar beneath a nearby pub, wearing civilian clothes and without her equipment, lest she be apprehended. Her mind worked diligently as she made note of ideal perches, what might get in the way, what she could use to her advantage, what paths she could escape by... Every detail stored in her mind.

The crowd shifted in the streets, mainly in grays and browns and black, with occasional spots of pink or blue or white, but always rather subdued. It isn't the kind of day or the kind of place for bright colors. Widowmaker's eyes skimmed over the mingled crowd of omnics and humans, paying careful attention to anything orange. High visibility vests on police, reflective paint on cones, barrels, and barriers... Numbers and positions stored clinically in Widowmaker's mind.

There was another flash of orange, however. Moving quickly, and not a vest... Pants? Why was someone wearing bright orange pants on a day like this? No matter, not a public worker, and likely not to be around tonight for the speech in any capacity other than a member of the drooling masses eating up whatever babble the monk will spew.

Widowmaker's thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of something touching her thigh. She startled, leaping backwards away from the edge of the roof onto more stable footing and reached into her coat, drawing a pistol before realizing what had touched her. Another flash of orange, or it would be in better weather. In this rain, it was a wetted mess of orange-brown fur. A fox. Widowmaker had heard of the foxes of London, but how did the creature get up here? The assassin released a breath she hadn't known she was holding and holstered her sidearm, moving back to her perch to continue her observation. Even if the fox would get in the way, better to have a minor pest than to do blow her cover with a gunshot or a discarded corpse.

She took her seat again, crouching once more at the edge of the roof only to be distracted again. This time by her own body, a small pang in her stomach reminding her she hadn't had any food in more than twelve hours. A pale blue hand reached into a deep pocket and drew out a pre-packaged bar of granola, oats, honey, and various nutrient additives. As she opened the wrapper, she heard a small whine from her recent companion. She tried to ignore the fox but it started to whine more loudly, and with a sigh Amelie broke the bar in half and handed part of it to the scrawny little fox and smiled.


	2. A vague memory

Widowmaker walked along the streets below her selected vantage point, passing time as King's Row continued to prepare itself for the arrival of Tekhartha Mondatta. The leader of the Shambali was scheduled to visit the historic, impoverished neighborhood to give a speech before the Omnium, expressing the worthiness of Omnic-kind to all of humanity, and offering a vision to a peaceful, harmonious future. Widowmaker almost felt disgust at the thought. Almost.

She had left the rooftops for the day, not to return until night lest she run afoul of the private security who will no doubt be observing from very likely the same vantage she'd selected. Killing the security early is no good to her, the event would simply go on lockdown before Widowmaker could do anything. So for now, makeup to hide her skin tone for street-level reconnaissance. Withdrawing her until the mission would be a waste of resources and a needless risk of detection, and staying at her vantage was totally out of the question, so the only option left to Widowmaker was to simply try and blend in. This sort of thing was always the hardest part of the mission. Putting on a face and emulating emotion was exhausting, and the makeup she had to wear wasn't particularly comfortable. It looked right, but was rather delicate as there hadn't been time to apply a sealer.

Widowmaker sighed a little as she walked into a cafe, stopping by the counter to order a drink before taking a seat near the corner and withdrawing a small tablet from her coat. Might as well put the time to use in reviewing projected security deployments and relevant blueprints, after all. She scrolled through pages of schematics and procedures boredly, occassionally taking a sip of the strong coffee.

After perhaps an hour or so, she hadn't been paying especially close to the time when she entered, something in the corner of her eye grabbed Widowmaker's attention; an odd flash of orange. She looked up curiously, a small tilt of her head to raise her line of sight and bring that flash from the periphery to the focus. Orange leggings, white crocs, and a bomber jacket. Who in the devil was this absurd clown? It must be the same person she'd briefly seen earlier, because even in a city as big as London there's no way two people could have such ridiculous fashion. Widowmaker's eyes caught on the woman's face; something was odd. This loon seemed familiar to the assassin, and not simply from having seen her in the crowd earlier.

As the stranger left the cafe with a cup in hand, something deep within Amelie's psyche stirred for a brief moment, barely within the realm of cognizance before it was pushed out of consciousness by years of conditioning. Widowmaker lowered her eyes to the tablet and banished the woman from her thoughts and resumed her planning; though not without a deep, faint sense that she knew that woman from somewhere.


End file.
